The Good Old Days of Adventism

Sometimes I hear people pine for the good old days when the Adventist church was characterized by a wonderful zeal and a pure commitment to the proclamation of Jesus and his end time message.

According to Ellen White, such mythic purity never existed.

In 1893 she wrote, "It is a solemn statement that I make to the church, that not one in twenty whose names are registered upon the church books are prepared to close their earthly history, and would be as verily without God and without hope in the world as the common sinner" (GCDB, February 4, 1893 par. 9). To paraphrase: 95 percent of church members were in a state of damnable spiritual corruption.

Perhaps one might argue this was late in the development of the church--by 1893 James White had been dead for 12 years. Surely things were better when the church was younger. Maybe. In 1867, EGW wrote, "Names are registered upon the church-books upon earth, but not in the book of life. I saw that there is not one in twenty of the youth who knows what experimental religion is. They serve themselves, and yet profess to be servants of Christ; but unless the spell which is upon them be broken, they will soon realize that the portion of the transgressor is theirs" (1T504, repeated in MYP 384). Again, just to make sure you get the math: in 1867 ninety-five percent of the young people on the church books were lost.

These statements apply to the laity. What about the clergy, the men and women who lived in poverty and devoted their lives to preaching the three angels messages.

"Every minister should study closely the manner of Christ's teaching. . . . There is not one in twenty who knows the beauty, the real essence, of Christ's ministry. They are to find it out. . . . Then all this tame sermonizing will come to an end; for frequently this is an exhibition of self, rather than the fruit that the teacher bears who has been at the feet of Jesus and learned of Him" (6MR 72; PaM 281.2).

So back in the good old days, 95 percent of the preachers did not know the real essence of Christ's ministry. Their preaching was an exhibition of self. Ninety-five percent of the young people were damnably self-absorbed. Ninety-five percent of the church members were as "verily without God" as common sinners.

So, without apology, I am boldly in favor of a church that is different from the church of the pioneers. I advocate progress, change and reform. The church of 95 percent failure is not a trustworthy model for our life today.

(Doing the research for this blog entry reminded me of the evils of Messages to Young People. The tone of that book was consistent with the notion that 95 percent of Adventist youth were damned. No wonder my teenage religion was characterized by fear and anxiety.)

Another Way of Knowing

The other day I was listening to a music review. It was vintage NPR--the reviewer was an academic, a professor somewhere, his tone and vocabulary properly urbane. The subject of the review was a new release by a pop band based in London. The clips played during the review featured raw, unpolished voices and lyrics that spoke of loss and longing and evoked in the listener intense emotion.

I laughed at the utter incongruity of the tone and style of the review and the reality of the music. Not that I can imagine any better "tone and style" for such a review. A review of music is a different way of knowing from "enjoyment."

"Enjoyment" is a higher form of knowing when it comes to music. Rational analysis has its place, but it is derivative. There would be no rational analysis without the prior reality of emotional, musical knowing.

The same is true for other art forms. Writing "about" a painting has its place, but we know a painting better by gazing at it. Rational analysis may enrich our viewing. Still, rational analysis is derivative or secondary to the knowing that comes by viewing with open eyes and receptive spirit.

The same is true in spirituality. Theology--rational discourse about God--is secondary to the experience of the divine. The power and richness of spiritual experience is the original motivation for theology. Theology does not arise out of philosophy and logic. Rather all of these--theology, philosophy, logic--are attempts to process data or experience that is prior to the rationalizing efforts.

Just as it is possible to become so engrossed in rational analysis of music or art that we are diverted from the best knowing that comes through enjoyment, so in the religious realm we can become so engrossed in rational analysis (e.g. theories of inspiration, the atonement, the incarnation or the covenants) that we fail to devote adequate time to enjoyment.

Rational analysis is at least as inadequate for spiritual life as it is for music and art. If you want to really know spirituality, at some point you have to shut up and enjoy.

So do it, already.

Seek the Peace of your CIty

It was “interesting times.” The cream of Jewish society was in exile in Babylon. The city of Jerusalem was under siege by Nebuchadnezzar. In Babylon, prophets urged the Jews to keep their bags packed. Any day now God was going to return them to Jerusalem. In Jerusalem, prophets urged the people to keep up a heroic resistance against the besieging army.

Against all this came the counsel of Jeremiah to the Jewish exiles in Babylon: seek the peace of the city where you live. Get married, take care of business. Get on with life—in Babylon.

Jeremiah was confident that God would eventually act for the deliverance of his people. They would return to the promised land. IN THE MEANTIME, they were to be good citizens of Babylon.

I think this applies to us. As Christians and Adventists we look forward to the Promised Land of Revelation 21 and 22. However, our primary responsibility now is to be good citizens here. Protecting the environment, working for quality public education, participating in the creation of effective civic and commercial infrastructure—we ought not leave all the doing and thinking about these things to people who are unaware of Jesus and heaven. If we believe God cares enough about this world to eventually redeem it, it makes sense to model God’s care in our own lives.

So get involved. Make a difference. Not just by doing “evangelism,” but by seeking the peace and prosperity of your city. Jeremiah 29:7.

Sex as a Right Wing Weapon

This week I heard a heart-breaking report about the systematic rape of women in Zimbabwe. According to a human rights organization, men wearing the T-shirts, singing the songs and spouting the slogans of Robert Mugabe’s party systematically raped women affiliated with opposing political parties. The rapists told the women they were being raped because of their connection with the wrong political party.

* * *

One of the very dark stains on American reputation in connection with the Iraq war was the use of sexuality as an instrument of abuse in the prison at Abu Ghraib. As in Zimbabwe, the actors featured in the news coverage were lowly foot soldiers. Yet it is clear the abuse was condoned, if not instigated, by those higher up, perhaps all the way to the top.

* * *

Just this week I received an email with the subject line: “Do you recognize this person?” Since the email was from a devout Seventh-day Adventist and was addressed to a family circle that regularly trades emails, I opened it unsuspectingly. To my shocked surprise, the email featured a collection of photos of a nude young woman purported to be President Obama’s mother.

I presume the Christians (yes, more than one was involved) who forwarded the nude photos would condemn Mugabe’s thugs for their horrific violence. I hope they would condemn the use of sexual assault as an instrument of war in the Abu Ghraib prison. If they see the evils of Mugabe and Abu Ghraib, what blinded them to the gross evil of participating in a right wing effort to use sex as a weapon against President Obama?

The American “right” claims to be for family values, moral integrity, and the sanctity of marriage and life. So what’s up with circulating pornographic images purportedly of the President’s mother? What “family value” does this represent?

When I did a cursory look on line for more info, it seems the pictures were first circulated by right wing partisans in October, 2008. So it’s taken a year of forwarding before it was finally sent to the devout Adventist who forwarded it on to me. The same cursory search strongly indicated the person in the photos is not, in fact, the President’s deceased mother.

Even if the photos were genuine portrayals of Ann Dunham, the President’s mother, circulating them puts the people who forward them in the same moral camp as Mugabe’s thugs. I say this by analogy to Jesus’ statement in Matthew that hatred is allied with murder. Obviously, as a victim, it is preferable to be hated than to be killed. And it is preferable to have inappropriate pictures circulated than to be raped. Still, the circulation of these photos, authentic or not, is using sex as a weapon which is morally akin to rape.

Ecclesiastes declares there is a time for peace and a time for war. It is appropriate to strongly oppose policies, actions and statements by the president. Give money, sign petitions, contact your legislators, talk to your neighbors. Campaign for what you believe in and against what you believe is wrong-headed or evil. But the next time you are tempted to use sex as a weapon, don't.

Desert Rendezvous

I plan to spend some time in Death Valley in March, 2010. If you'd like to visit around the campfire let me know. Maybe we could meet up.

Contact me at johntmclarty@gmail.com

Christmas Lament

Once I got past my outrage and shock at the news of the murder of the four Lakewood police, a lament from the Christmas story has played over and over in my mind: (Lakewood is on the south edge of our parish.)

A voice is heard in Ramah,
weeping and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because they are no more.

A voice is heard . . . weeping and great mourning . . . weeping for children . . . because they are no more. Not the lines usually featured in Christmas pageants. Still they are there, integral to my favorite part of the story, the camel-riding wise men.



Two thousand years ago, an angel visited a young woman in the town of Nazareth to announce she was going to have a baby. In fact, the angel declared, her baby was the person Jewish prophecy had been talking about for 2000 years, the Messiah.

This was fantastic news was complicated by one small wrinkle: Mary, the young woman, was not married, and she wasn’t sleeping with her fiancé. How could she have a baby?


The angel explained her pregnancy would be the result of supernatural intervention by the Holy Spirit.

Wow! Fantastic!

Except for the complications. Her fiancé made plans to dump her. The people in town were scandalized by her pregnancy. She was alienated from her family. Fortunately, the angel visited her fiancé and persuaded him the baby really was a supernatural creation by God, not the result of treachery on Mary’s part.

About nine months later Joseph and Mary traveled south from Nazareth to the town of Bethlehem to register for a head tax imposed by the Romans. Every hotel room in town was taken. Joseph finally found them a place in an inn-keeper’s barn. And that’s where Mary gave birth. After cleaning him up and loving on him, she wrapped him in Jewish baby clothes and laid her baby, the promised Messiah, the rightful heir to the throne of Israel, in a feed box. Not exactly the crib you’d expect for the Savior of the World.

Later that night shepherds showed up at the barn with a story that almost made up for the disgrace of the barn delivery. The shepherds had been outside town tending their sheep. Suddenly from out of nowhere, an angel appeared in dazzling light. He said he had come to announce the birth of the Messiah. Prophecy was now fulfilled. The promised one was on the ground. The waiting was over. The key to identifying the divine baby was this: He would be wrapped in a Jewish baby blanket and lying in a feed box. Then the herald angel was joined by a massive choir singing, “Glory to God in the highest and to those on earth, peace and good will.”

It was a fantastic story. And the story didn’t stop there.

Forty days later Joseph and Mary took their baby to the temple in Jerusalem for a special service required for all first born males. As they walked into the temple they were met by an old priest who performed the required ritual, then went on to pray an astonishing prayer about their baby. Lifting his face toward heaven, he said, “Now Lord, you can let me die in peace because I have now seen the Savior you promised, the one who will be a light to the nations and the glory of your people Israel.”

Wow! That must have thrilled Mary’s heart. But there was more.

Handing the baby back to Mary, the old man, Simeon, had a personal message for Mary, a caution. Yes, her baby was the promised king. And no, it would not be easy sailing, Simeon warned her. “Many people will violently oppose him,” Simeon said. “And a sword will pierce your own soul also.”

The Christmas story reminds us there is a complicated plot behind our faith. Yes, we know goodness wins. Love and mercy, justice and truth are the eternal, inexorable forces. Pain and evil are transitory, their triumphs ephemeral. Still in the Christmas story and in our own lives, the complications of plot are large and daunting. Sometimes staggeringly brutal. Even for citizens of the kingdom of God, a sword sometimes pierces our own souls also.

When this happens, it is no proof we have stepped outside God’s plot. Our wounding is no evidence we have been inattentive to our Master. According to the prophecy of Simeon, the life of greatest hero in God’s story was going to rouse fierce opposition and eventually drive a sword through his own mother’s heart. That was not the end of the story. It was, however, an inescapable part of the story. You can’t be part of God’s story and avoid all pain.

This much is clear in the Christmas story, and we haven’t yet come to those haunting words: A voice is heard in Ramah . . . weeping and great mourning for children . . . because they are no more.

The lament comes in the next chapter--in the Wise Men story.

Jesus was still an infant, probably about a year old, when his parents were startled by mysterious visitors–the three wise men. (They’re the guys you see on camels in Christmas scenes in church yards.) They were wealthy men, maybe even nobility, from ancient Persia or Babylon–modern day Iran or Iraq. They had observed the sudden appearance of a new star. Modern scholars have speculated it might have been a supernova or comet. More traditionally (and more believably) it has been interpreted as supernatural light created by angels. In any case, these Wise Men understood this celestial phenomenon to be an omen announcing the fulfillment of ancient prophecies about the birth of the Messiah. They had traveled all the way to Jerusalem to worship the new born divine king.

When they arrived in Jerusalem after months of travel, to their astonishment no one in the Holy City knew anything about the birth of this divine king. Finally, some old priests suggested they check out the town of Bethlehem a few miles south of Jerusalem. An ancient prophecy had named Bethlehem as the birth place of the Great King.

In Bethlehem, the Wise Men located the Holy Family, paid their respects and gave Joseph and Mary some very impressive, expensive gifts. Then they headed home strategically avoiding Jerusalem.

Can you imagine the sweet pleasure Joseph and Mary experienced in this visit? These impressive men had traveled a thousand, maybe two thousand miles, to pay obeisance to their son! Proud parents, they must have drifted off to sleep that night filled with pleasant dreams of a sweet future. Only to have their sleep interrupted by an angel with bad news.

The Wise Men’s traipsing about Jerusalem asking everybody if they had any information about a new king had not escaped the notice of the current king of Jerusalem--King Herod. He had interviewed the Wise Men and asked them to be sure and let him know when they found the baby so he, too, could pay his respects. Completely unsuspecting they would have returned to Jerusalem after visiting the Holy Family if an angel hadn't warned them not to.

The angel that woke Joseph said Herod was going to kill every baby in Bethlehem. They had to get out now!

Herod probably would have killed the Wise Men if they hadn't gotten beyond his reach before he realized they had left the area. He sent his soldiers to Bethlehem. Joseph and Mary escaped with Jesus. That's the good news. But what about the dozens? scores? hundreds of families that received no warning and did not escape?

The town was filled with an awful dirge, the heart-shattering wail of mothers bereft of their babies.

Matthew, says it fulfilled an ancient prophecy.

A voice is heard in Ramah,
weeping and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children
inconsolable because they are no more.

According to Matthew, this monstrous holocaust had been foreseen. The Christmas story included not only the escape of Jesus and his family to Egypt, it also included the non-escape and execution of the babies of Bethlehem.

When you read the ancient prophecy, there is no mention of King Herod and the slaughter of babies in Bethlehem. The connection between these words and the mothers of Bethlehem is the universal reality of grief and the notice God takes of it. Through Matthew these eloquent words are recast to sweep the grief of mothers everywhere and make their grief part of the Christmas story.

Which brings us back to the horrific story of this week's murders.

What do we make of four policemen being killed while planning a day’s work over coffee? No warning. No provocation. They were just doing their job, working for the well being of the community when a gunman killed them. In cold blood. Is this also part of the good story God is writing? Is there any way their deaths can be included in the final writing of the triumph of God and goodness?

We know there are dark powers afoot in the world. Is this chapter of the human story utterly under their control? Is God simply absent?

If the Christmas story offers any guidance at all, it offers us hope that all events, even those which evoke inconsolable grief, will be woven back into the final version of history that traces the triumph of God and goodness.

This truth is hinted in a phrase that appears at the end of this chapter in Jesus’ life. His parents escaped from the holocaust in Bethlehem by fleeing to Egypt. After several years as refugees there, King Herod, died and they decided to go back home to Palestine. In connection with their sojourn in Egypt, hiding from the butchery of Herod, Matthew comments cites another ancient scripture, “Out of Egypt have I called my son.” As with the words about the weeping of Rachel, so with these: there is nothing explicit in the text about the Messiah. Still Matthew hears in these words a spiritual truth that transcends textual precision. God takes every part of our story–even the parts that seem at first glance to have been written by the powers of darkness–and turns them into essential elements of plot in the good story he is writing.

I do not pretend to be able to sketch a rational defense of my assertion that all of our story is ultimately reclaimed by God as essential elements in his glorious master narrative. It is a non-rational, non-historical, non-scientific assertion. It is a truth best expressed best through art. It lies behind the hope and sense of meaning we voice in our fairy tales, novels, movies, paintings and songs. It is congruent with love and our hunger for justice and mercy. It is a wonderfully satisfying foundation for fully humane existence.

The central message of the Bible is “God Wins.” Goodness, love, justice, truth, affection, beauty win. Evil and pain are temporary. Still, when we say God wins, we are acknowledging there is a struggle. God wins in the face of wickedness and chaos. God triumphs over entropy. God conquers random tragedy and purposeful evil. There is a battle. There are casualties. Close and personal, bitter and apparently senseless. There is weeping and crying.

And God wins. And because we are his people, we win.

The Christmas story includes the anguished wail of the mothers of Bethlehem. It includes the sadistic cruelty of King Herod. It features the heart-crushing threat by Joseph to break off his relationship with Mary because of her irregular pregnancy. It includes arriving in a strange town to discover there is no room in the inn and barely room in the barn with the cows. It includes the sword through Mary’s heart.

In these details, the Christmas story connects with our stories. It is as though in writing the story of the triumph of goodness and love, God writes slowly enough to sweep into his narrative all of our lives, the dark secrets, the crushing injustices, the insufferable disappointments, inexplicable accidents. He omits no detail of our stories in pulling together the master narrative that gives meaning to the grand sweep of history.

Having gathered all of our stories–the stories of all of us and the entirety of each of our stories–God moves the story toward its climax. The Christmas story does not end with the sword through the heart. It does not end with Herod still on the throne. It does not end with the wail of Bethlehem’s mothers.

The Christmas story ends–if it is even proper to use the word, “end,”–with the grand triumph of God and goodness and love. Jesus is on the throne. His people, too, are on the throne. There is no need for policing or violence. The entire cosmos pulses with glad harmony. Pain and tears have become so fuzzy in memory as to scarcely exist. Humans, all of us, are swept up in a gleaming wave of glorious life and happiness. Every being sings, “Yes! Glory, Hallelujah!”

Damned Mercy?

Maurice Clemmons should not have received mercy. In fact, Mike Huckabee is damnably culpable for extending mercy to such a monster. If Governor Huckabee had not gone along with the recommendation of the clemency board, Maurice Clemmons would not have been out on the street. He would not have shot dead four police officers in the south end of my parish this past Sunday. For this act of damned mercy, Huckabee is disqualified from any further participation in national politics. At least this is what I’ve heard this week on talk radio.

Of course, by the same standard, God is disqualified from participation in national politics. God is responsible for the holocaust, the Boston Strangler, Timothy McVeigh and 9/11. God’s damned mercy allows undeserving sinners to go right on doing evil. And Jesus agrees with this divine policy of failing to incarcerate or incinerate sinners. He even agrees with God actually enabling them. Jesus said approvingly, “God sends his rain on the just and the unjust.” (Matthew 5).

I don’t know if Governor Huckabee would make a good president of the United States, but the fact that one of his “acts of mercy” was twisted by its recipient into an occasion for committing a horrific atrocity is no mark against the governor. It is easy in hindsight to argue that Clemmons should have been jailed for life at age sixteen. However, the people making the decision to reduce his sentence and ultimately parole Clemmons were doing their best to practice mercy toward a criminal without violating their role as guardians of social justice. Eliminating mercy from our treatment of criminals makes no more sense than eliminating mercy from any other sector of our social interaction.

Eliminate all mercy for criminals and you might as well go ahead and eliminate hope, affection, marriage vows, and childrearing–all of which look to an uncertain future and the absolute certainty that at least some percentage will prove misguided in hindsight. Mercy may open the door for damnable crimes. That does not make mercy itself damnable.

A Picture of Sweet Tranquility

I took this picture in Hart Mountain National Wildlife Refuge in April, 2009. Karin and I were on a meandering vacation in the Great Basin Desert feeding our souls with big skies, sunlight, evening soaks in remote hot springs and days with no phone or email service.

Give Thanks and Laugh

At our Thanksgiving table, one of our nephews who works for the Army Corps of Engineers gave us good news: The probability of catastrophic flooding in the Green River Valley this winter is now estimated as only one chance in twenty-five.

Great news!??? How could the prospect of a reservoir failure resulting in catastrophic flooding be good news? The reason we give thanks there is “only” a one in twenty five probability of failure of the north abutment of the Howard Hansen Dam is that earlier this year, the risk was pegged at a one in three chance. King County and the cities of Auburn, Kent, Des Moines and Renton have been feverishly working to erect sandbag extensions on their levies. They have moved some city services out of the valley. They held public meetings to address various contingency plans. Worst case scenarios saw 20 to 30,000 people needing shelter because their homes are under water.

Of course, the Corps has been working on emergencies fixes to the problem. Recently the remediation work had progressed far enough, the Corps revised their risk assessment. Now the flood risk is one in twenty-five. Everyone is breathing a sigh of relief. We are grateful there is only a one in twenty-five chance of flooding.

One way gratitude happens in our lives is for happy changes to happen unexpectedly. This can either be some unexpected benefit or the avoidance of an expected unpleasantness. Life has a way of rearranging our perspective.

This idea is captured in Psalm 107 which begins, “Give thanks to the Lord for he is good, his love endures forever.”

Verse 4 pictures some people most apt to give thanks:

Some wandered in the trackless desert. . . . They were hungry and thirsty, and had given up all hope. In their trouble they called to the Lord, and he saved them out of their distress. The Psalmist concludes, “They ought to give thanks to the Lord for his constant love, for the wonderful things he has done for them. He satisfies those who are thirsty, and the hungry he fills with good things.”

There is nothing like starving to heighten one’s appreciation of food. There is nothing like running out of water on a blazing hot afternoon in the desert to make you appreciate water.

Later in the Psalm, the writer talks about people who’ve gone to sea in a sail boat and gotten caught in a terrifying storm. The waves look like mountains. The winds are howling. They are sure they’re going to die. When finally the storm passes and they make it into a harbor, they give thanks.

It rings true, doesn’t it?

Have you ever gone to the doctor and been told you need a biopsy? No matter how reassuring your doctor tries to be, the fact that you have had a biopsy puts you on pins and needles. Life seems very precarious, fragile.

When you finally get word that it’s not cancer, that there’s nothing to worry about, for a little while at least life is suddenly rosier and bright. You are grateful for the mere fact of being alive.

The stern difficulties of life become the occasions of our greatest joy.

I remember running down a steep trail three or four years ago. It was after dark. In the less-than-ideal-illumination given by my headlamp, I misjudged a step and was suddenly airborne. Not good. I landed on my back in a dry creek bed with my head against a rock. I lay there stunned, sure I was seriously injured. I waited for the waves of pain. When they did not immediately come, I tried moving my arms and legs. They worked. I felt my head where it had been against the rock. There was no blood. Not even a bump. I squirmed up out of the tangle of brush, logs and rocks and slowly got to my feet. Other than a few scratches and the shaky feeling of too much adrenaline pumping, I was fine. I retrieved my head lamp, climbed back up to the trail and kept moving. Overflowing with gratitude.

It’s easy to give thanks when life hands us drama.

It is more difficult to remain keenly aware of the blessings are flow routinely through our lives.

Part of our work as a church is to practice giving thanks. We deliberately cultivate an awareness of the goodness God sends our way. We give thanks for food and water. We give thanks for warm clothes and houses that shield from the weather. We give thanks we have money and freedom. One characteristic of spiritual maturity is the habit of giving thanks in all circumstances, as Paul puts it.

Times of scarcity and threat naturally prompt gratitude. However, we don’t have to wait for trouble to ambush us and make us aware of our blessings.

One habit church teaches is saying a blessing or saying grace at meals. The point of saying grace at meals is to cultivate our own awareness of the treasure that food is. Whether the food is boiled potatoes and peas–not my favorite meal–or stir fry with Napa cabbage, tofu, peppers, potatoes and curry powder or pumpkin pie, for those who are aware, the food is reason for great thanksgiving. It is a marvelous bounty, a gift from heaven.

When we stop and say grace we add gratitude to the blessings of flavor and nutrition. The food becomes an occasion of communion with God, an occasion of joy.

(If you're interested in my own use of food as part of my meditation practice see my blog for Oct. 29 titled "Mediation on Morning Coffee and Cookies.")

When we come to church, we practice counting the blessings that God sends our way. Blessings of family, shelter, food, clothing, religious liberty, political freedom, the affection of pets, the glories of nature. We practice thanksgiving.

We know not all is well in the world. We know there is an enemy of life, happiness and holiness afoot in the world. We also know he is on the losing side. Every victory he achieves sets another triumph by God. His most diabolical accomplishments are twisted by God’s creativity into the raw material of something beautiful. The ultimate demonstration of this creativity of God is his use of the Devil's animosity against Jesus to set up the salvation of the world! Judas' treachery becomes a cog in the wheel of redemption!

So we laugh. We are joyful. We are full of gratitude. God reigns. God wins. And we stand with God. So ultimately we, too, win. We are a community of triumphant joy.

Back to Psalm 107.

“Some sat in darkness and the deepest gloom because they had rebelled. Then they cried to the Lord and he saved them. . . . let them give thanks” (verses 10-15).

“Some became fools through their rebellious ways and suffered affliction because of their iniquities . . . then they cried to the Lord in their trouble and he saved them. Let them give thanks . . .” (verses 17-22).

Notice in these verses the problems these people face are problems of their own creation. These people have failed morally and spiritually. They could have been avoided the mess they are in by simply obeying the rules. Still when they cry out to God, God responds. God delivers them and restores them to joy.

God is greater than our moral and spiritual failures. We screw up. And because of our screw ups we are filled with discouragement and despair. How could I have been so stupid, so selfish, so blind? We take out our guilt sticks and beat ourselves up. Undestandably. Sometimes we truly are guilty. We don’t just feel guilty. We have harmed others. We have damaged ourselves.

Then we cry to God out of our distress and he comes and forgives us. He reaches out his hand and pulls us to our feet and invites to us to live again. God is not made helpless by our failures.

He makes us glad again. He teaches us to laugh.

Some people are constantly talking about the evil one, about the enemy. They talk of spiritual warfare as if it were a risky, dangerous endeavor whose outcome is in doubt. If the battle is between God and the devil, between goodness and evil, between light and darkness, there is no question about the final outcome. We step into the battle roaring with laughter. Even if we are cut down by the enemy, our cause will triumph. If we are committed to truth, justice and mercy–we win. Period. If it turns out that in some way we were actually misguided, and our efforts were pointed in the wrong direction–even that does not disqualify us from participation in the victory of God. Our highest commitment is to his cause, not our understanding of our precise place in it. God will win. Mercy and truth will triumph. Justice will be secured. Guaranteed. There is no possibility of failure for those who give themselves to God.

Some of us are a bit clumsy. We make resolutions and break them. We make great plans and stumble in their execution. Instead of gnashing your teeth and berating yourself, laugh! And go at it again. God’s cause is moving on. It will sweep you into the kingdom. So you tripped-- So you got off track -- So, for awhile you were headed the wrong direction -- What else is new? Turn around. Get up and rejoin the movement of God.

God will use even your stumbles as occasions for demonstrating his goodness and for embarrassing the enemy.

So, in all circumstances, give thanks. Practice giving thanks daily. Evening and morning. Say grace at meals–both on formal occasions and those times when you use a peanut butter sandwich to stave off collapse.

Say thanks. Give thanks. Be joyful.

Why not?

A Community of Hope

When my children were born, I was amazed at their glory. The wonder of their fingers and eyes. I was dazzled by their smiles. I loved their sweet smell. As they became toddlers, I delighted in their confidence in my strength and abilities. Dad could fix anything.

Now, Bonnie instructs me in the fine details of managing our home computer and helps me with some on-line banking tricks. Garrett amazes me with his mechanical abilities and Shelley is ahead of me in math.

I will always be Dad. My children still flatter me by asking my opinion occasionally, but now, as adults, they are fully qualified partners in life.

This transformation of my children from sweet dependents to mature partners is the fulfillment of hope. I remember, even as I oohed and aahed over their infant perfection, already dreaming of what they would become. My delight in their childish glory was heightened by my anticipation of what they would become.

This parental hope is a reflection of God.

The Bible begins with a strong statement of God’s satisfaction with humanity as they came from his hand. At the end of the creation story, God declares, “It is very good.”

This declaration of satisfaction is coupled with an assignment: Be fruitful and multiply. Subdue the earth. Both of these commands are clear mandates for change. However satisfied God was with the earth as he birthed it, he wanted to it change, to grow.

That same hope applies to God’s relationship with everyone of us. God is pleased with you. The mere fact of your existence gives him delight. And God has great hopes for you. He wants you to grow, to increase, to learn, to build, to accomplish.

North Hill is a community of hope. We are pleased you are here. All of you. As you are. And we hope that your participation in our community will encourage you to grow. Our anticipation of growth and change comes to us naturally as participants in the kingdom of God.

In the book of Deuteronomy Moses says to Israel: “Do what is right and good so that it may go well with you . . .” Deut. 6:18

“If you pay attention to these laws and are careful to follow them, then the Lord your God will bless you and increase your numbers. He will bless the fruit of your womb, the crops of your land–your grain, new wine and oil–the calves of your herd, and the lambs of your flock. . . .The Lord will keep you free from every disease.” Deut. 7:12-14

God hoped his people would obey and as a result experience health, prosperity, happiness and longevity. Holiness would produce happiness.

The New Testament is even more dramatic. Jesus–the divine Son of God, the Savior of the World–says to those who become his students, “You will do what I have been doing. In fact, you will do even greater things than I’ve been doing because I am going to my Father.” John14:12. That is bold hope.

Finally, in the book of Revelation, Jesus declares, “To him who overcomes, I will grant to sit with me on my throne, just as I overcame and sat down with my Father on his throne.” Revelation 3:21

That is amazingly bold hope.

When we look at newborns, we imagine them mastering the mysteries of numbers and words and notes and colors, becoming musicians, doctors, artists, mechanics, entrepreneurs, teachers, moms and dads. When God looks at newborns he imagines them sitting on the throne of heaven. That’s bold hope.

Let’s join God in his hope–for ourselves and others.

Meditation on Morning Coffee and Cookies

This morning, as is my custom, before I read anything or turned on the computer or spoke with any one, I enjoyed coffee–one cup, lots of milk, no sugar, extra hot–and two cookies. Made them myself.

The first sip melts its way down to my stomach radiating warmth through my entire core. Pause. Rehearse my morning mediation: “Grace and peace. . . . Grace . . . . . . . . and Peace.”

Then the first bite of cookie, dense with whole wheat flour and oatmeal, interrupted with the glorious flavor and texture of a chocolate chip. Chew. . . . Savor. . . . Rehearse . . . . Exhale.

Wait.

Another sip. Flavor on the tongue. Heat in my mouth. Warmth flowing into my gut. Rehearse.

My mind wanders: Life of God received. Heat. Liquid. Flavor. Texture. I give thanks. Savor. Wait. Enjoy.

Bite of cookie. Chew. Savor. Give thanks. Life of God received.

This single bite connects me with a web of thousands, all children of God. All animated by his life-giving spirit. Wheat farmers. Cocoa growers. Sailors. Train engineers. Hourly workers in the factory that made the combine that gathered the wheat. Bankers. Grocery story cashiers. The older sisters who watched their little brothers and sisters while mom and dad worked.

The lingering taste of chocolate connects me with them all and with the God of them all.

It takes half an hour to receive one cup and two cookies.

I finish. Life of God received. Thank you. Eucharist. Coffee and cookie. Communion.

I begin my day. My prayer: make me, too, an agent of divine warmth and holy sustenance.

Hands of Grace; No Fingerprints

Some years ago I gave a presentation at a young adult gathering on Sabbath afternoon. I stayed after my lecture to listen to a vespers sermon by Jon Dybdahl. At the end of his sermon, he talked about God’s power to heal. Then he invited anyone present who needed special healing to stand. A number of people stood, including a young man in the row in front of me.

Next Dr. Dybdahl asked those sitting near someone who had stood to stand also and place our hands on the people needing healing. I stood and put my hand on the shoulder of the young man in front of me. Dr. Dybdalh prayed, and we sat back down.

After the service was over, the young man came over to me. It was his first time hanging around Adventists. The friend who had brought him said I was a preacher. Could we get together and talk sometime that week.

“Sure,” I said and gave him my card.

When we sat down to talk on Wednesday he told me he had felt the power of God flow from my hand all through his body. He had been suffering from severe back pain. He was healed, immediately and completely.

I had felt nothing at all.

I don’t know what would have happened if when Dr. Dybdahl had prayed no one had been standing there with their hands on Mike’s shoulders. I do know Mike felt God’s power and my hands were involved. Apparently God did not need to inform me of what he was up to.

* * * * *

It’s something like that in church. North Hill Adventist Fellowship is an agency of God’s healing. People have experienced release from addictions. They have found solace. They have found new hope. The people of North Hill have been agents of heaven. Through your hands God has touched many with his grace.

You might think, “I’ve never been part of a miracle.” You may never have felt God’s power flow through you as others received healing. Still, even though you may have been completely unaware, you have, indeed, been agents of grace. How? Let me count the ways.

Right now we have fourteen people on our cleaning teams. How likely is it that anyone would hang around here long enough to encounter God if no one cleaned the toilets? If no one vacuumed the lobby, mopped the kitchen floor or emptied the garbage cans?

Every time you’ve pushed a vacuum, every time you’ve washed a window, every time you’ve given attention to some small detail of cleaning here in this building, you have participated in the work of God. You have been an indispensable part of the ministry of God.

A week or two ago a college student sent me a message saying he had appreciated a recent sermon. He lives at college. He hasn’t been here at North Hill for over a month. How did he hear the sermon? On line. Which means that if he got anything out of that sermon God’s power must have passed through the hands of Jeff Keating or Kirsten Dovich at the sound board. Then it passed through the hands of Randy Wiser who posts the sermons to the web.

That student probably did not notice Jeff’s, Kirsten’s or Randy’s finger prints, but they were there.

People occasionally show up here at church talking about the landscape. They have noticed the slow emergence here on this corner of the classiest, most attractive landscaping within many miles either way on Meridian Ave. These people don’t know Wayne. They have no idea of how much time he has invested here. And the hundreds of hours a few others have invested as well. They can’t see the fingerprints of the volunteers who planted and weeded. They do see the handiwork of God in the beauty of the landscaping.

I could tell similar stories about people affected by those of you who are here consistently, touching children with programs and smiles and affection.

Lives have been transformed because some of you have the skills and take the time to make wonderfully good food for our potluck dinners creating an atmosphere of welcome and ease.

Fact is, every part of God’s kingdom depends on invisible hands.

One of the greatest stories in the Old Testament is set up by the words of a young woman whose name is never given. The maid of Naaman’s wife suggests to her mistress that a prophet in Israel could cure Naaman’s leprosy.

Naaman was a VIP. Like Colin Powell or the Secretary of State or the Secretary of Defense. He was SOMEBODY. He goes to Israel for the cure. The prophet Elisha heals him. It is a fantastic story with lots of drama. Great characters–the kings of Israel and Syria, the prophet Elisha, Elisha’s servant Gehazi. The story ends with the conversion of Naaman to the worship of the God of heaven and the end of endless war between Syria and Israel.

It’s all set up by a nameless maid, doing her job, unnoticed, unheralded.

In the New Testament, the fantastic miracle of Jesus feeding 5000 people is set up by a kid with no name who hands over his lunch. I’m sure that kid could see nothing extraordinary about his five pieces of bread and two fish. Sure the food was going to taste good. He was not unhappy about his lunch. But he had no idea that his meager lunch held enough food for thousands to eat and be satisfied.

He just handed over his lunch. God fed the crowd.

Don’t spend too much time trying to spot God’s activity. Don’t be over-concerned how significant your labor is or how powerful your hands are. Just speak up for God when you get a chance. Hand over your lunch when it’s needed. Do what you can where you are. When you know it or not, you're acting as an agent of grace. Your hands are the conduits of miracles. God moves through you while you are busy doing what needs to be done.

So do it.

Saved by the Law

If your concern is being saved from hell, the law won't do you much good.

If your concern is to be saved from avoidable harm and futility here and now, "law" is just what you need.

I read an article not long ago in Forbes magazine that described the dramatic turn around in AIDS infection in that country. What has made the difference? A campaign to get people to change their behavior. Quit having sex outside marriage.

I saw an ad recently on the back page of a magazine. What happened to New Jersey teens when the state decided to delay issuing drivers licenses until they turned 18? A lot more of them arrived alive at 18 years of age.

I don't spend much time thinking about hell. I do spend a lot time thinking about how to help my people live well here and now. And "lawfulness," that is life ordered in harmony with sound principles turns out to be far more effective in saving them from disease, death, relationship failure and poverty than any amount of purely theoretical faith. Miracles sometimes happen. Law happens far more often.

(Sorry for absence of references for the Forbes article and the ad. I'm in a hurry to get out of town. If you want the references, leave a comment and I'll supply them next week when I return.)

Barnabas the Encourager

(This is a long blog--1200 words. So here is a synopsis: Barnabas, the encourager, was God’s indispensable agent in launching the ministry of Paul. Barnabas lived the grace Paul preached. If your calling is more that of “encourager” than “apostle” blessings on you. Your ministry is no less significant than that of those who are more flamboyant, forceful or famous. Keep encouraging.)

If you want the whole thing, here it is. Or you can check out the audio once we get it posted. See the links to the right.

Barnabas: My Model for Ministry

When a guy named Paul showed up in Jerusalem looking to spend some time with the followers of Jesus there, he needed help. The church would have nothing to do with him. For good reason. Sure, they had heard the stories of his conversion in Damascus. But the people in Jerusalem knew his other side better. It was their relatives and friends Paul had arrested and prosecuted. Their relatives and friends had been subjected to Paul’s enhanced interrogation techniques.

Paul was scary. He was forceful, brilliant, outspoken, domineering, and . . . well scary. If he wanted to believe in Jesus, that was all well and good. But it would be recklessly irresponsible to give him ready access to the social networks of the church. Who knew how long his “conversion” would last. Maybe his “conversion” was a mere ploy, a set up for more dramatic arrests and prosecutions.

Then Barnabas got involved.

Barnabas was rich. Devout. Cultured. Respected. When the early church ran low on cash, Barnabas saved the day (Acts 4:36).

So when Barnabas took Paul around to visit the apostles, the apostles listened. When Barnabas insisted Paul’s conversion was genuine, his opinion mattered. The church doors opened, at least a bit.

This was just Barnabas’ first act in setting up the ministry of Paul.

Some time later word reached Jerusalem that crowds of Gentiles were showing up at church to hear about Jesus. The apostles had already been confronted with the story of Cornelius, the Roman centurion, whose non-Jewish household had been demonstrably filled with the Holy Spirit before they were even baptized. Probably the apostles remembered the words of the Jesus about the gospel going to all nations. But what to do with crowds of Gentiles?

They turned to Barnabas. Would he go and check out the situation?

Barnabas heads off to Antioch. “When he arrived and saw the evidence of the grace of God, he was glad and encouraged them all to remain true to the lord will all their hearts.” There is ample evidence that the early church included people with all sorts of personal, moral and spiritual problems. What did Barnabas see when he met with these new believers? “Evidence of the grace of God.”

When Barnabas arrived, he saw evidence of grace and encouraged them. Not a bad model for us. Maybe the reason Barnabas saw so much grace is that his own life was full of grace. Luke writes about Barnabas: “He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith.” One of the highest commendations given in the Bible.

While Barnabas was helping the believers in Antioch grow in their spiritual life he remembered Paul. Paul had dropped off the radar screen. Barnabas thought he should be involved in public ministry. So Barnabas traveled over a hundred miles to Tarsus, looking for Paul. When he finally found him, Barnabas insisted Paul come help in Antioch.

The two of them spent a year teaching and preaching in Antioch. They had such an impact the people in town began calling the believers “Christians, ” the first time that term was used.

Later that year, a prophet predicted a severe famine. In response to the prophecy, the church started an emergency fund for the believers back in Jerusalem. When they had enough money together, they asked Barnabas to deliver it to Jerusalem.

Who did Barnabas take with him? Paul.

The leaders may not have been impressed with Paul’s scholarship and preaching when Barnabas first introduced Paul. But they could not fail to be impressed if Paul showed up with a large donation. So Barnabas and Paul traveled to Jerusalem carrying the offering from the church in Antioch.

After delivering the aid, Barnabas and Paul returned to Antioch. There, while they were fasting and praying with three other church leaders, the Holy Spirit told the group to consecrate Barnabas and Paul for a special mission. They did so, and Barnabas and Paul took off on a missionary trip.

Paul was in his element. New people. New challenges. He was a fiery preacher. His first Sabbath in the town of Pisidian Antioch, Paul preached in the local synagogue. His sermon was so compelling that the next Sabbath nearly the entire city turned out to hear him preach. Whether or not you agreed with Paul, he was hard to ignore.

Paul was a riveting preacher, a compelling teacher. He had the gift of healing. He performed exorcisms. Paul was a terrific evangelist. He was a lousy pastor. He was skilled at preaching grace. He was lousy at practicing it.

On this missionary trip, Barnabas had invited his relative John Mark to come along. Mark dropped out part way through the trip. He couldn’t handle the pressure. When Barnabas and Paul got ready to go on their next trip, Barnabas wanted to give Mark another chance. Paul was adamant. No way! He’s a wimp, a wuss. I won’t have a quitter with me doing evangelism.

When Paul insisted he would not do mission work with John Mark, Barnabas said, “Fine. You don’t have to come.”

For all of Barnabas’ appreciation for Paul’s gifts and calling, Barnabas would not allow Paul to shut down another person whose gifts and weaknesses were different from his own.

Paul went on to the famous ministry we know about. He traveled widely, planting churches through his fiery preaching. He wrote letters that are still studied and quoted today. God clearly used Paul in a mighty way.

I think it is valuable to remember without Barnabas, we would have never heard of Paul. Barnabas could not have done Paul’s work. Paul could have never done his work without Barnabas.

God needs both fiery evangelists and sensitive pastors. Sensitive pastors make lousy evangelists (if you measure by counting). Fiery evangelists make lousy pastors (if you measure by sustainable church life). In the large scheme of things both are vital for the long term health of the church.

Barnabas’ story gives me courage in my work as a pastor. I’m a lousy evangelist (if you evaluate me by the numbers). But I’m pretty good at encouraging.

Congregations also have personalities or gift profiles. Some congregations are rigorous and strict in their teaching and church culture. Other congregations are known for their warmth and openness. Both kinds of congregations are needed to do the whole work of God.

North Hill is unabashedly committed to Barnabas as our model. We are more concerned with warmth and affection than we are with order and structure. We find our greatest joy and effectiveness in encouraging persons and ministries.

Those who use Paul as their “model” Christian are often critical of a Barnabas approach to pastoral work and congregational life. These critics are adamant that the church must ruthlessly proclaim the pure gospel and rid itself of any taint of uncertainty or impurity. I smile at the criticism. It sounds just like Paul talking. And the reason we know what Paul sounded like, the reason we have access to his words is because of a man named Barnabas.

Who knows, maybe our own Barnabas ministry will give birth to a new Paul, full of zeal and fire, impatient with our own patience with those who are less than perfect.

If Theology Can’t Fix my Car, Why Bother?

Friends of mine are deeply involved in advocating particular theories about the end of time. They preach, write books, publish newsletters. A couple of different times I’ve ask them, If I believed everything you are teaching, what would I do differently? What do you want me to change in the way I live? Their answer: Nothing.

So why should I listen to their sermons or read their books and blogs? One of the most important questions to be asked in theological conversation is So what? What difference does it make? If the answer is “Nothing!” then at minimum we don’t need to excommunicate each for our differences. I'll push it even further, if a person's theology does not have a vital connection to their everyday life, their theology is a mere religious curiosity not really worthy of the label "theology."

Valuable theology does make a difference in our lives. No, it won’t fix my car. It won’t cure Alzheimer’s or wash the dishes. But then that’s not what it is for. Watercolor painting won’t fix my car either, or cure Alzheimer’s or clean the dishes. Still we treasure good painting. And good theology is at least as valuable as good painting. In fact, theology is a lot like art. Theology is someone’s attempt to paint a picture of reality using words.

Theologians tell us what they see, and they hope that in their telling they will enable us to also see. The eyes of our mind see differently after reading a theological work.

It is important to recognize that theology is not reality, just as a painting of a tree is not a tree. No matter how elegant, attractive or “true” the painting is, the painting is not the tree. The Bible is not God. Calvin’s “Institutes” does not contain God. Ellen White’s Conflict of the Ages series does not contain God. These great works point toward God. They evoke in our minds an understanding and appreciation of God. They help us understand the implications of our God theories for the practice of life. But they are not themselves God.

So why do theology?

1. We humans can’t help ourselves. We are incurable theologians. Even Dawkins has to theorize about God–God doesn’t exist;–he can’t help positing a theory of ultimate reality. When we do theology we are doing what all human cultures everywhere at all times have done. We are expressing and revealing our humanity.

2. Theology has implications for how we order our lives. The respect I give those who disagree with me. The limits I impose on people who use their freedom in ways that damage others. My willingness to cooperate with others in community (preserving and limiting personal autonomy). My behavior in support of personal and community health. All of these things interact with my theology.

3. Theology is the art form most suitable for talking about purpose and meaning. Our lives are immeasurably enriched when they are supported by a lively sense of purpose and meaning. If we did away with formal theology, we would immediately replace it with something that functioned in similar manner in our lives–superstition, philosophy, a different theology.

4. Good theology is beautiful and helps us see beauty. Our hunger for this “divine” beauty has inspired the writing and collecting of books for three thousand years at least. The connection between theology and beauty is so strong it justifies our theologizing even though we know theology can be used in wicked ways. (Of course, we are far better served when we use theology to create beauty than when we use it to crack skulls.)

Theology, even the very finest theology, won’t fix my car. It might help me respond righteously if my mechanic fails or my car is irreparable. It points to meaning and purpose that transcend the entire world of cars and mechanics. No matter how precious my car, theology opens a universe beyond it that invites exploration and worship.

Believing Less

Growing up as a precociously religious kid who was reasonably bright, I mastered a lot of information.

By the time I finished elementary school, I knew the names of the general-slaying woman with a hammer (Jael) and the first organist (Jubal). I knew the date of Creation and the right day to keep holy. I could tell you the meaning of the “Spirit of Prophecy” and “then shall the sanctuary be cleansed.” I knew the identities of the “little horn,” the “great red dragon” and the “lamb-like beast.” I believed every detail. Fervently.

By the end of high school, I could chart the precise order of last day events–the loud cry, the little time of trouble, the national Sunday law, the close of probation, the great time of trouble, the death decree, etc.

In college and seminary, I added to my repertoire. I became an expert on justification, sanctification and glorification. I could explain legal, relational and psychological theories of the atonement. I could teach people how to “pray through the sanctuary.” I could explain “the covenants.” I could comfortably toss around words like soteriology, pre-lapsarian and post-lapsarian, eschatology, hermeneutics, hamartology, ecclesiology, epistemology. When I began pastoring my first church–the Babylon Adventist Church on Long Island–I believed an enormous number of things and could explain why they were true.

Now, I believe less.

I have not been persuaded by the various efforts to “disprove” Adventism. The evangelical critique of Adventism has a patina of scholarship. However, it appears to me to merely replace slavish Adventist dependence on Ellen White as the primary interpreter of the Bible with a slavish dependence on Paul as the ultimate voice of truth. Not a great leap forward in epistemology, exegesis or human well-being. The unrestrained confidence in the “assured results of scholarship” characteristic of classic liberal theology seems naive to me. History has not been kind to “assured results.”

My believing less arises not from the attraction of another truer (or more sophisticated or more exegetically-precise or more venerable) system. Rather it arises out of thirty years of listening to God’s people–professional theologians and mothers and students and scientists and the home-bound disabled and addicts and care-givers and doctors and truck drivers.

All those prophetic details? The theologians argue endlessly. Some of their arguments are interesting. However, a correct interpretation of Daniel 8 and Revelation 13 offers no help for people who have spent thirty years trying to quit smoking or people who are interacting with adult children who are schizophrenics. Should I really claim to believe something that makes no difference for mothering, bill-paying, physical health or the navigation of old age?

To push it even further, people who REALLY do believe we are at the end of time drop out of school, move to the country and “evangelize” in confrontational, obnoxious ways. In other words their lives are deranged.

The same holds for “justification, sanctification, glorification.” The debates about soteriology (how a person is saved) fill endless volumes. The debate is interesting and irrelevant. In my limited experience there is a strong correlation between having highly developed soteriological schemas and being tragically ineffective in significant relationships. Knowing the precise relation between justification and sanctification appears to offer little help for troubled marriages or dealing with addictions or managing money wisely.

So I believe less.

I believe in God.

I believe in people. God made them. God died for them. I figure salvation (whatever that means) is the default state of things. If God, with classical omniscience and omnipotence, created humanity with the full knowledge that 95 percent of them (cf. Ellen White’s statements about “not one in twenty”) would be incinerated, that would raise ethical questions at least as large as those created by theistic evolution.

I believe “God desires mercy and not sacrifice.” That is, relationships are more important than religious rectitude.

I believe doing good is more important that believing right. (Though, of course, ideas matter. Some ideas have consequences.)

I believe making beauty is better than making ugly.

(Some readers, at this point, might ask, then what do I make of the highly elaborated theology of Adventism? Do I think we should get rid of it? Do I think it is wrong? I’ll address this in a future post under the title, “If theology can’t fix my car, what good is it?” Hint: water coloring painting won’t fix my car either.)

Finding God in our Stories

Sermon for North Hill, September 6, 2009
Text: Luke 16:1-15

On the face of it, Jesus’ story about a crooked manager is outrageous. The manager rips off the rancher he works for. The owner congratulates the crook for his cunning. In Jesus’ telling of the story the crook does not apologize or make amends, instead Jesus simply segues from the owner’s congratulation to a spiritual point the story is supposed to illustrate.

More than one church member has insisted I offer some intelligible reason for Jesus’ use of this story. So here is my take on “The Unrighteous Steward.”

First the story as Jesus told it:

Jesus told his disciples: "There was a rich man whose manager was accused of wasting his possessions. So he called him in and confronted him, 'What’s this I hear? Give an account of your management, because you cannot be manager any longer.'

"The manager said to himself, 'What shall I do now? My master is taking away my job. I'm not strong enough to dig, and I'm ashamed to beg. I know what I'll do so that, when I lose my job here, people will welcome me into their houses.'

He called in each of his master's debtors. He asked the first, “How much do you owe?”

“Eight hundred gallons of olive oil,” he replied.
The manager told him, “Take your bill, sit down quickly, and make it four hundred.”

He asked the second, “How much do you owe?”
"A thousand bushels of wheat,” he replied.
He told him, “Take your bill and make it eight hundred.”

The master commended the dishonest manager on his cunning. For the people of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own kind than are the people of the light. I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.


Jesus is quite explicit in stating “the moral of the story:” use money to bless people because this kind of money management brings eternal benefits. We might puzzle over exactly how to implement this teaching, but the basic exhortation is clear.

I explored this idea in last week’s sermon. “Spiritual things” like the Bible, prayer and going to church are not the only tools for building a vital spiritual life. Secular things, worldly things–like money–are no less useful as tools for crafting spiritual life. You want to get ready for heaven? Don’t limit yourself to prayer, Bible study and going to church. Understand that money is a spiritual tool. What we do with our money affects others. It makes an eternal difference. The way we manage money expresses and shapes the very core of our being.

This spiritual lesson from the story does not address the question posed to me on the way out of church last week: why Jesus would tell such a story in the first place? Surely he could have come up with a story with more noble protagonists. Why use a story of scandalous money management to make his point about the wise use of money?


First, Jesus’ use of this story highlights the importance of what he was trying to get across. Jesus used a shocking story to introduce his point because he wanted to make sure no one missed it. He wanted to make sure he had EVERYONE’s attention. He wanted to make sure they would not forget it.

They didn’t.

We’re still talking about it.

Second, Jesus’ use of this story offers fantastic hope to all of us. No matter how inglorious our story, God can still use it. In fact, God needs our story to finish telling his story.


The story of Bob Pierce is full of inspiration. In 1947 he traveled to China as a missionary with Youth for Christ. He was fiery evangelist . . . and a highly effective one. Thousands of people crowded his meetings and were baptized.

One morning he was confronted by Miss Tena Hoelkedoer, a local missionary who was the principal of a mission school. It was easy for him to preach about Jesus, she said, but what was he going to do about White Jade? White Jade was a young student who had attended Pierce’s meetings. The night before she had been so inspired she went home and told her father that she was going to become a Christian. Her father beat her severely and threw her out of the house with threats of severe harm if she ever returned. White Jade dragged herself to the mission. The principal was already housing six orphans in her home she could not afford to feed another.

Pierce gave Miss Hoelkedoer, his last five dollars and promised to send her more money every month. It was the first spark of a personal vision that would eventually encompass the world.

After that preaching tour in China, Bob Pierce went to Korea. Starvation was everywhere. Children without fathers. Wives without husbands. Bob bought a movie camera and filmed the desperate need of the people, then came back to the US and toured the country showing his pictures in churches and pleading with American Christians to help those who were less fortunate.

Bob’s solidarity with the hurting of the world was irresistible. When he talked, you felt the pain of the world. That empathy, that deep connection with the hungry and orphaned and widowed, became the foundation of World Vision. From its birth in 1950, World Vision has grown into an international aid agency helping people in over 100 countries with over 30,000 staff. They assist 100 million people a year.

It’s a fantastic story. But to keep it fully inspirational, you have to edit carefully. If you tell all of Bob Pierce’s story, it sounds a lot like the story of the Unrighteous Steward.

Bob, the man with deep empathy for the world’s needy, was possessed by a fierce temper. He got into frequent angry confrontations with his board. He neglected his family, spending as much as ten months at a time away from home traveling. He justified this neglect saying, "I've made an agreement with God that I'll take care of his helpless little lambs overseas if he'll take care of mine at home." It didn’t quite work that way. He was alienated from his daughters. One of his daughters committed suicide after futilely begging him to come home from an extended trip in Asia. He and wife eventually separated.

He reconciled with his family four days before his death. A nice touch. But given his raging temper, his willfulness, and his deeply entrenched pattern of deliberately neglecting his family, I can’t help wondering how long the reconciliation would have lasted if he had stayed alive.

To put it simply, on a global stage Bob Pierce was a grand, larger-than-life humanitarian. On the smaller stages of home and office, he was a jerk.

World Vision would not exist if Bob had not been such a fanatically driven evangelist. His daughter may not have committed suicide if her father had been more appropriately attentive to his family. Bob Pierce’s story is full of glory and venality, nobility and pettiness. Contradictions.

Like your story.

Maybe that’s why Jesus told this story.

He could have used a story with more noble characters in it. He could have explicitly stated his disapproval of the crook’s business methods. Instead, Jesus took the story as it was–the record of a crooked business manager–and made it an integral part of his teaching ministry.

If Jesus could use that crooks’ story, he can use your story.

Here in our congregation, we have experienced failure. Our stories are not neat records of uninterrupted growth in grace.

Some of us have failed in our marriages. Many of us are divorced. Many of us have participated in conflict and estrangement in marriages that have not outwardly disintegrated. Still God includes our stories in his grand story.

Some of us have experienced failure in our relationships with our parents or our children. At times those failures may tempt us to consider ourselves useless for God’s service. Not so. God is still writing in your story. Invite him to use even your failures to accomplish something good.

Some of us have wasted far too many years in addictions. We are positive our stories are worthless. Unbroken records of failure after failure after failure. That’s not the way God sees it.

A friend of mine used to do meth. For years. At one time he filmed part of his life in addiction, thinking maybe the footage could be used in a documentary to help persuade young people not to follow him into the horrific nightmare his life had become.

Some of us have failed in our work. We’ve been fired or downsized.

Some of us have lost our faith.

Some of us have lost our minds.

Some of us cannot seem to escape the pit of self-pity. We know we should be overflowing with gratitude and joy for the privileges that are ours. Instead we whine and moan over the people and circumstances that annoy us as though we had a right to live in a world perfectly aligned with our desires.

Our stories are useless. At least that’s what we’re tempted to think.

The truth is your story is indispensable to Jesus. He cannot say everything he wants to say without telling your story.

Jesus redeems our stories. Even our failures, blunders, acts of rebellion are somehow rewoven into the grand design of God so that they take on a dignity utterly indiscernible when we first wrote them by our decisions and habits. We are crooks, jerks, clumsy blunders. And we are the protagonists, the exemplars, the heroes in the grand story of God.

Shopping with Jesus

Shopping as a Spiritual Exercise.

All the way down at the end of the plumbing aisle at Lowe’s I found what I was looking for–a four-foot-long galvanized pipe with a red handle on the top. It’s an amazing device called a yard hydrant. Even when the ground is frozen solid and the air temperature is 10 degrees it provides water. It’s almost miraculous.

I installed the hydrant in our back pasture, and sure enough, even in the middle of winter, when I walk out there and lift the handle, water pours out.

Every time I go into Lowe’s or Home Depot, I marvel at all the stuff available. Yard hydrants. Light fixtures. Lumber. Pipes. Bags of concrete. Then I come to the tool section. Wow! A whole wall of drill bits, saw blades, screw drivers, pliers, levels, tape measures, wrenches, chisels, hammers–sometimes I just stand there and stare, my mind spinning with admiration and desire.

Shopping.

What does shopping have to do with God? With godliness? How can buying a yard hydrant become a spiritual exercise?

It’s possible to pick up a yard hydrant, carry it to the check out, pay my money and walk out of the store with nothing more than a piece of hardware. It’s also possible to turn my purchase into an experience of communion, of conscious participation in a global network of thousands of people.

The creation of that hydrant requires the collaboration of miners, mill workers, designers, engineers, accountants just to complete the initial processes converting iron ore into the galvanized pipe, stainless steel rods and cast iron used for various parts of the hydrant. There are similar chains of people who create the brass used for the valve base and the ethylene propylene used for the plunger. Finally the hydrant is assembled (probably in China) and shipped. Shipping in this case probably means transportation by rail, boat and truck. The entire process is tied together by a communication network of wires and satellites and people.

These thousands, or more likely tens of thousands, of people all worked together so I could shop for a hydrant to provide water for my horses. And the forty-five dollars I pay for the hydrant plays a role in putting a dress on a five-year-old girl in China and in paying for the violin played by the son of the truck driver who hauled the container from the Port of Tacoma to Lowe’s in Federal Way.

The foundry worker in China and the truck driver here in Washington both invested a portion of their life in serving me. When I make my purchase, I am honoring their service. I am participating with them in a global communion. As I make my purchase I breath a prayer of blessing on the many hands and minds that are united in my simple act of buying a hydrant. And shopping becomes a verily communion as when I eat bread and drink grape juice at church.


(The more aware I become of the connection of my purchase to real, live people, the more likely I am to ask questions about the global economic system. It is not just “a system.” It is a network of people. The well-being of all those people matters at least as much as my own convenience.)

In addition to the experience of communion, there is also a sermon waiting for my attention in the purchase of that yard hydrant.

I go to the store. I buy a relatively cheap piece of hardware. I take it home and install it a thousand feet from the house. It’s fairly easy to be aware of my work, my personal effort in the process of installing that hydrant. I can tell you the hours I spent, the money I spent.

It takes more deliberate attention to appreciate how much truth that my plumbing work is entirely dependent on the prior work of others–on the tens of thousands of people I mentioned earlier.

It’s the same with spiritual life. It is easy to aware of our practices of Bible study and prayer. We can measure the hours and dollars we have invested in church life. We can count the devotional and theological books we have read and the seminars we have attended. We know about our effort to cultivate spiritual life.

The reality is that all of our spiritual life–ALL OF IT–is utterly dependent on the work of others. There would be no Bible to read apart from the thousands of anonymous monks who sat in cold dark monasteries copying manuscripts. There would be no English Bible apart from the scholars who specialized in exotic, ancient languages and passed their knowledge along from generation to generation. There would be no church to attend or devotional books to read if it weren’t for the Christian community over the centuries that has been the absolutely essential soil for the growth of preachers, mystics, composers, artists, writers, theologians, missionaries, dissidents, reformers, visionaries, prophets and even hermits.

My personal, individual spiritual life is possible only because it was preceded and is surrounded by a global network of humans. God alone is not enough. The Bible alone is not enough. Spiritual life is a function of a human network–i.e. church. (Just to be clear, the Roman Catholic claim to be the only authentic embodiment the Christian community over time is just as laughable as the contemporary notion that authentic Christianity can be my own personal, individual creation.) Church (the community of believers across geography and chronology) is one of the absolutely necessary conditions for the Bible or the Holy Spirit to be effective in the cultivation of Christian spirituality. Just as the global economic network is the absolutely necessary precursor to my installation of a hydrant in my back pasture.

So I go to the store for plumbing supplies. I buy a hydrant and in the process take part in communion and hear a fine sermon. Not a bad deal.

Christian Politics

Let me keep all my money. Don’t touch my guns or SUV. Allow me my divorce. Then I’ll be happy. I’ll even vote for you.

This is a caricature, but it is a recognizable one. It prompts me to ask, what is the essence of authentically Christian political thought?

Christian thinking about politics was powerfully shaped by the threat of communism in the middle part of the last century. Adventists, like other Christians, were terrified by what seemed to be the inexorable tide of global communism which combined collectivism and atheism. Here in the U.S. we linked every kind of collective action outside of church with communism. Unions–communist fronts. Social security, welfare, Medicare, minimum wage laws–all leading edges of the wedge of socialism, itself a mere mask for communism.

Since collectivism was communist, we were for individualism. Radical individualism. This was reaffirmed by our eschatology which pictured the end of history as a totalitarian extermination of the last vestiges of individual conscience.

Against the menace of collectivism gone rampant we embraced a radical individualism. If you want a quality education, pay for it. Out of your own pocket. Do you want health care. Get busy and earn enough money to pay for it. All of it. Do you want a clean environment? Earn enough money to buy enough acres to create your own environment. Do you want a decent income? Don’t look to unions or the government to safeguard your hourly wage. Go to graduate school or medical school. If you don’t have the brains or drive to do that, then accept what is offered without grumbling.

There maybe value in this Darwinian, blessings to the strongest, approach to life. However, I can’t see what it has to do with the philosophy of Jesus. The Good Samaritan, The Two Great Commandments, The Sermon on the Mount, The Story of the Sheep and Goats all point to some kind of social awareness and care. If “I” have an obligation to respond to the need of individuals around me, it seems “we” have some obligation to the needs of the community around us.

Accepting the obligations of community will not make us automatically favor “leftist” or “socialist” politics. It does mean the highest values in our political philosophy cannot be low taxes, big cars, easy guns and easy divorce. Maybe these particular strategies will turn out to be the best way to promote the well-being of society. But it is the well-being of society–including the well-being of the weakest, poorest and sickest–that must be our highest concern.

“Pro-life” must also mean pro-environment, pro-living wage, pro-accessible health care, pro-education, pro-accessible legal aid because these things are essential if humans are going to thrive in third millennium America. “Pro-business” should also mean pro-strong judiciary, pro-public and private transportation, pro-education, pro-accessible health care because these provide the essential infrastructure for solid business growth.

Our belief in the value of freedom leads us to keep the state out of divorce decisions as far as possible. Our belief in community, in a shared responsibility for children and even for adults, prompts us to insist on some state involvement in divorce. This same ambiguity should apply to our stance on homosexual unions. The state must offer some measure of protection to children and adults associated with unions between homosexuals. Not because we “believe in homosexuality,” but because we believe in the value of people and community.

Perhaps it will turn out that low taxes, easy gun ownership, no limits on emissions and easy marriage and divorce for heterosexuals only are the public policies most conducive to a prosperous, peaceful society. I’m not quite yet convinced. What I am convinced of is that for Christians, the starting point cannot be simply–I want what’s desirable for me. Rather our starting point must be a vision of well-being that includes “the least of these.” At every step in the policy making process, Christians ought to ask, how is my opinion informed by the teaching and example of Jesus.

Then we can have truly fruitful political debate and can craft public policy that promotes prosperity and peace for all.

Finding God in Other Religions

Text: Genesis 14:18-20

As disciples of Jesus, we are familiar with his words, “I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved” (John 10:9). We remember other words in that same chapter, “The one who does not enter through the gate is a thief and robber” (John 10:1).

From this it is a short leap to the idea that anyone who does not understand Jesus the way we do is somehow a thief and robber. “Other Religions” are not just “other,” they are devilish, demonic, dangerous, evil. God would never show up in those neighborhoods.

This fundamentalist view is corrected by other words of Jesus, again from the same chapter. “I have other sheep who are not of this sheep pen. I must bring them also” (John 10:16). These “other sheep” who belong to “other sheep pens” already belong to Jesus. Over there. In that other place. Jesus will call them, yes. He has plans for them. Still, right now, while they are still over there, he acknowledges they are already his.

These twin truths,“I have sheep in other sheep pens” and “I must bring them” give two poles to our thinking about “other religions.”

1. We cooperate with Jesus in giving the invitation to those others to come and be part of this sheep pen. We do evangelism, witnessing, sharing or whatever label you prefer for communicating our beliefs and practices to others.

2. We recognize that people in those other pens--other religions--already belong to Jesus. Even the clergy of these "opposing religions" may well already belong to Jesus. So our evangelism is not based on condemnation of other people or other religions. We do not have to prove people are damned before we can offer them the good things God has given us.


These twin truths show up in the larger story of Scripture.

A. In the Bible, God is very outspoken in his choice of the Jews as his special people. (I will not bother listing texts.)

B. God freely works through non-Jewish priests, prophets and kings! (Below are a few dramatic examples.)

Priest/King
According to Genesis 12, God chose Abraham and promised to make him the father of a special nation. Some time later, Abraham meets a Canaanite priest, Melchizedek, who is the king of Jerusalem. (Remember, this is hundreds of years before Jerusalem becomes a Jewish city under David.) Abraham confirms the godly status of this Canaanite priest by paying him tithe!

This story is one of the most dramatic illustrations of principle that being “God’s chosen”–that’s Abraham–is not a negation of the ministry of others, not even a negation of the ministry of a Canaanite!

Prophet
Balaam is introduced in Numbers 22 as a Babylonian prophet who has direct communion with God. He is seduced by money, but his prophecies are preserved in Scripture and are celebrated still today as some of the earliest promises regarding the Messiah. In Balaam’s story we see God’s strong preference for Israel and God’s active involvement with a venal Babylonian prophet.

Kings
Isaiah, writing for God, refers to the Assyrian king as “the rod of my anger, in whose hand is the club of my wrath!” (Isaiah 10:5). Even though the King of Assyria has no conscious intention of cooperating with God, Isaiah writes that his attacks on Israel are actually holy work. God is in them.

Further on in Isaiah we read about Cyrus the "Lord's anointed." For the sake of Israel God will "call him by name and bestow on him a title of honor." God says, "I will strengthen you, though you do not acknowledge me. . . . I will raise Cyrus up in my righteousness . . . he will rebuild my city" (Isa. 45).

Jeremiah writes similarly about God's "servant Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon. (Jer. 27:4-7).

Daniel pictures God at work in the court of Babylon eventually winning the allegiance of the King of Babylon. Nebuchanezzar's conversion does not make him a Jew (an official member of the official people of God). It does place a godly man at the head of the Babylonian system. What if the pope (or your favorite interpretation of the king of Babylon in Revelation) yielded to God’s initiative even partially? Would you recognize it?

Melchizedek the Canaanite, Senaccharib the Assyrian, Nebuchadnezzar the Babylon, and Cyrus the Persian are all recognized as servants of God. All of them except Senaccharib are presented as honorable servants of God. They are good people, doing God's work.

How does this apply in our own setting?

A. We confidently present to the world our understanding of the mission and truth of God. We want the world to know about a God who does not torture, a God who creates freedom and has exalted dreams for his people (to share the throne with him for all eternity–Rev. 22:5). We invite people to experience the enhanced quality of life that comes flows from the disciplines of healthy living–Sabbath-keeping, relationship cultivation, diet, exercise, education. We invite people to join us in “the remnant church.”

B. We renounce “Babylon-bashing.” We expect God to be active in other people, even in other religions. We honor what God is doing elsewhere. We do not confuse “being chosen” with condemnation of all the others. When we see others doing the work of God–and compassion, moral action, stewardship of earth, health care, restoration of relationships, easing of pain, recovery from addiction–we cooperate where we can. We take comfort in the assurance we have that God is active all over–not just everywhere in a geographic sense but also in a cultural, religious, ethic sense. God reigns.

The bottom line: our evangelism, our proclamation to the world is not driven by our conviction that everyone out there is evil and every other system is controlled by the devil. Rather, healthy evangelism is driven by an overflow of joy and gratitude. What God has given us is too precious to be hoarded. We are too happy with our treasure to keep quiet.

Finding God on the Farm

Finding God on the Farm
North Hill Adventist Fellowship, August 19, 2009
Texts: Exodus 20:10; Numbers 22, 1 Samuel 9; Matthew 10:29

I got home Wednesday afternoon about 2:00. I walked out back to where my daughter was working her horse.

“I’m going to eat lunch,” I told her. “ Then I’m headed to the church.”

“Okay,” she responded, “but you should know Bolero has knocked down the electric in his stall.” (We use electric fencing to keep the horses from chewing up the wood in their stalls.)

Great, I thought. Always something.

I had spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday morning in continuing education meetings for pastors. I sated with theological theories and methodology for church life. I was impatient to get on with the actual work of ministry. I had come home thinking I would eat a good lunch, then dive into my to-do list. Now I had to mess with horse damage.

I don’t do animal care at our house. I don’t feed or clean stalls. But I do handle the repairs. And it seems like the animals are always tearing up something.

I was really hungry, and I was impatient get going on my to-do list for the church. But if I didn’t fix the electric now, no telling how badly it might be mangled later. So I headed over to check out Bolero’s stall.

Bolero is my wife’s treasure, a one-year-old colt she has raised from birth. He is full of energy and mischief. Because of the weather and Karin’s work schedule, he had been penned up in his stall for the last couple of days. So no wonder he got into mischief.

As I unlatched the gate on his pen he came toward me. I stared in horror at the right side of his head. Where his eyeball was supposed to be was a weird red patch of tissue. I couldn’t see the eye ball at all.

I called to Bonnie. “We’ve got a big problem. There’s something terribly wrong with Bolero’s eye. I’ve got to call the vet.”

I reached Dr. Campbell on my cell phone. Yes, we could bring the horse over for him to look at.

Since Karin was at work, it was up to Bonnie and me to take care of the problem.

Lunch would have to wait.

She put her horse away and we walked Bolero the quarter mile up the road to the vet’s place. He sedated the horse, then checked out the eye. Fortunately, it was not as bad as I feared. The red tissue was the result of some kind of inflamation around the eye. With proper care, it would probably heal up fine.

He gave the horse a couple of injections. Put some ointment in the eye, then sent us home with instructions to ice the eye immediately while the horse was still drunk from the sedative.

It was kind of funny walking a drunk horse down the road home. He staggered all over the road. Several times he nearly staggered into the ditch. We got him home, tied him up to the hitching rack and fetched an ice pack from the house. I set the alarm on my phone for 15 minutes and held the ice pack to his eye. He wasn’t crazy about the operation, but he was too drunk to protest effectively.

Standing there for fifteen minutes with nothing to do except make sure he didn’t fall over and keep the ice pack on his eye gave me some time to think.

Naturally, my first reaction was resentment. I really had more important things to do than stand there holding an ice pack on a horse’s eye. Besides, I was seriously hungry. And it wasn’t my horse. Then I had to laugh. What a perfect illustration of the truth I’ve been focusing on in this sermon series.

God had shown up on our farm in the person of a horse.

Naturally enough, we expect to encounter God in religious places like church, prayer and the Bible. In reality God shows up all over the place if only we have eyes to see.

God is in the glory of mountains and in the sweet beauty of lilies and columbines. God also reveals himself in the terror of avalanches and consuming power of thirty-foot surf.

Romance and sexual intimacy teach spiritual truths that are only hinted at in words in books. God is also revealed in the challenge of unity between beings as different and difficult as men and women.

In the city, we readily honor the reflection of God we see in the achievements of academics and artists. We marvel at the technological innovation and complex systems of transportation and communication. God is also present in the pain and dysfunction of miserable humans so evident in the crumbling parts of the metropolis. Meth addicts, prostitutes, homeless schizophrenics are all God’s children. When we touch them with care and hope, we are easing the pain of God.

And God lives on the farm. On our farm. Your farm. And not just in the glory of galloping horses on sunny mornings or the purr of contented cats. God is also present in the demands animals make on us through their needs.

God must have special appreciation for horses and cows. He actually included them in the fourth commandment. “Remember the Sabbath to keep holy . . . don’t work . . . and don’t work your horses or cows.”

The most repeated picture of God in the Bible is God responding to the human predicament. Humans are in trouble because of something stupid they have done or something evil someone else has done. People are in trouble and God steps in.

Even at the very beginning. While Christian tradition imagines a period of blissful communion between God and Adam and Eve before they sin, the first recorded conversation between people and God happens only after the people get into trouble.

God comes looking for Adam and Eve, calling for them like we call after our missing pets. “Adam, Eve, where are you?”

God is the Savior, Shepherd, Comforter–all words that evoke images of responding to human difficulty.

So I’m standing there on Wednesday afternoon, keeping company with God, holding an ice pack to the swollen eye of one of God’s horses. This was not on my calendar. It was not on my to do list. But what can I do? It looks like my wife’s prize colt has lost its eye. So, naturally, I take the colt to the vet. Dr. Campbell said, “Ice that eye for fifteen minutes as soon as you get home, while he is still under the effective of the sedative.”

So, I’m icing the eye.

And hope that God is, indeed, keeping me company in the barnyard.

The Bible has a couple of stories about people who have significant encounters with God because of trouble with horses. (Well, actually donkeys. But I think that’s close enough to make my point.)

First is the story of Balaam. Balaam was a prophet. Not a Jewish prophet, but still a prophet with an extraordinary connection with God.

Some enemies of the Jews hire him to curse the Jews. After consulting God, Balaam tells them he can’t do that. They figure he is just holding out for a bigger honorarium. So they come back and offer him more money and greater honor and beg him to help them out by cursing the Jews. He checks with God again, then agrees to go with them to see about putting a curse on the Jews.

He is riding his donkey to his appointment when all of a sudden the donkey leaves the road and strikes off into a field beside the road. Balaam is understandably annoyed and beats his donkey with a stick, finally getting him back on the road.

A little later when the road goes through a narrow space between two walls, the donkey crowds to one side smashing Balaam’s foot against the wall. Again, Balaam beats the donkey with his stick.

Finally, they come to a very narrow place. This time the donkey just lies down. Balaam gets off the donkey and begins to flail away with his stick. Probably, he’s throwing in a few choice words as well.

About this time the donkey speaks up.

“Why are you beating me?”

“What do you mean, you stupid donkey, ‘why am I beating you?’ First, you take off into a field. Then you smash my foot against a wall. Now you lie down in the middle of the road. Why am I beating you? If I had a sword I’d kill you.”

“Have I ever acted like this before?” The donkey asks.

“No.” Balaam grudgingly acknowledged.

“Look, I’m the same donkey you have ridden all your life. If I have never before done anything like this, don’t you think there might be a good reason?”

About this time, God comes to the aid of the donkey. He allows Balaam to see an angel who is standing smack in the middle of road just ahead of where the donkey had lain down. The angel scolds Balaam.

“How come you beat your donkey like that? When he headed out into the field it was to avoid running into me. When he smashed your foot against the wall he was squeezing by me in the narrow road. And this time, there was no way to get around me.

“I have been sent by God to bar your way. Your donkey saw me and tried to comply with the obvious message conveyed by my presence in the middle of the road.

“If that donkey had run into me I would not have harmed the donkey, but I would have killed you.”

Balaam was stunned. Naturally. “I’m sorry.” he mumbles to the angel. “I didn’t know you were standing in the road. Now if you think I shouldn’t go, I’ll turn around and head back home.”

“No,” the angel said. “Keep going. Just make sure you speak only the words God gives you.”

So Balaam kept his appointment. He prophesied over the Jewish people. Instead of cursing them, he blessed them. A famous blessing still read 4000 years later, a blessing set up by a troublesome horse (or donkey).

The next story that comes to mind is the story of Saul, son of Kish. Some of Kish’s donkeys wander off. Kish sends out his son Saul and a servant to look for them. They hike for days through the hill country of Ephraim and Shalishah. They head on over into the territory of the tribe of Benjamin. Still no donkeys. Finally, Saul decides they better head back or Dad is going to be more worried about them than he is about the lost donkeys.

The servant says, “Wait. Before we head back, let’s go to the holy man in the next town. He is highly respected because everything he says comes true. Maybe he can tell us where to find our donkeys.”

Saul agrees to go meet the holy man who turns out to be the prophet Samuel. When they meet Samuel, it is obvious that Samuel is expecting them. He tells them not to worry about the donkeys. They are back home, and Saul’s father is now worried about Saul. Then Samuel tells Saul that God has chosen him to become the king of Israel.

Saul is astonished. He left home looking for donkeys. He has spent the last several weeks wandering the Palestinian wilderness looking for lost donkeys. Where does his search for those perverse donkeys bring him? To an encounter with the leading holy man of Israel who gives him a message from God: You have been chosen king.

As I was standing there holding the ice pack to Bolero’s eye on Wednesday afternoon, I was hoping God was going to use this interruption of my life as a segue into some dramatic, heroic service.

Of course, that’s not what happened. After I iced his eye, I checked the electric in his stall. It wasn’t working at all. I found a problem in the plug on the electric charge box and fixed that. Then I spent close to an hour redoing all the insulators in his stall which he had rubbed on or kicked or chewed on. I replaced the electric tape and finally left the drunk horse to recover while I grabbed some lunch and headed toward the church for my evening meeting.

The only connection with God I was aware of in the whole operation was a reminder that God spends his whole life taking care of people who screw up.

That horse had screwed himself up. He needed help–help he could not summon or manage. He needed help that only I, at that moment, could give.

Just like people need God’s help to deal with the messes we make.


God’s care for animals is highlighted by Jesus in Matthew 10:10. Not a sparrow falls to the ground unnoticed by God’s loving attention. In Matthew 6, Jesus insists that birds eat because God feeds them.

This world is full of dramatic, horrific evil. We think of the stern, despotic rulers of North Korea or Burma. Going back a few decades we remember the horrors of Rwanda and Cambodia. Here in our own neighborhoods murders happen. In our own homes brutal words are used, maybe even physical abuse is dished out. I hope not.

In the face of all this God invites us to keep him company in giving care to the animals within our sphere. When we teach our children to feed their cats and dogs, we are teaching them to cooperate with God. God, too, is affected by their welfare.

Then looking beyond the care for animals, we are summoned to the care of people. Maybe we can lift our voice in protest against the burning of Christian homes and churches in Pakistan. Maybe we can lend our influence to oppose the systematic oppression of the Palestinians. Perhaps we can make a difference in the life of a kid through being a tutor or just a friend.

When we interrupt our big, important, significant work to give care to the insignificant, unimportant little ones, we are entering into the tenderness and attentiveness of God.

The Bible story begins with God taking initiative. God does God’s thing. He creates a world. But ever since, most of the action of God pictured in the Bible, is God reacting to human need. God deals with the fallout of human choices, human errors, human failures. God is kept busy all through the Bible cleaning up human messes.

We hurt ourselves. We mess up our world. We damage other people. And God does not turn away. God does not overlook our mess. He responds. He changes his plans to engage our reality. He holds ice packs to our eyes. He puts back up the guidelines we tear down in our boredom or rambunctiousness.


Near the end of Jesus’ ministry, when he finally decides it’s time to demonstrate his rightful claim to royalty, he rides into Jerusalem on a colt.

He must like horses.

Then in Revelation when Jesus is described as finally triumphing over the forces of evil, he is pictured as riding on a white horse followed by his people also mounted on white horses.

Wednesday night, I left it to Karin to continue the medical attention to Bolero. I could only stand so much direct cooperation with God in holding an ice pack to Bolero’s eye.

But I’ve found myself thinking all week, where else is God hiding? Where else would I encounter God, if I paid attention?

Bolero’s need for my immediate attention was not the only time this week the farm intruded into my life. Friday morning, I jumped up from my desk to go separate two dogs that got into a fight. It was not fun. It was not on my calendar or on my to do list. But it was care that was needed RIGHT NOW.

How often is “God’s Perfect Plan” rearranged to meet the actual situation of our lives? The Bible uses multiple images to persuade us that God is watching and responding to the human situation. When we who are farmers (or pet owners) respond to the needs and messes of our animals, we are walking with God. Throughout the Bible God is pictured as engaged with animals (and other little ones). He invites us to be aware of him keeping us company while we serve the voiceless ones in our care.

Maybe the animals on your “farm” are actually people–children, broken, hurting adults–people whose needs call you away from your preset plans. Pay attention. It may be that God is inviting you to spend fifteen minutes keeping him company holding an ice pack to his horse’s eye. Maybe God just wants to slow us down and keep him company in the barnyard. For a while.